Warnings: Language, and an overall abuse of the Capcom canon. Don't read if you get offended by alternate character deaths :p

"Damnit, Joseph! What the hell!"

Joseph plucked the cigarette from out of his mouth, smirking coyly. "What?" he asked, his tone anything but oblivious. Brad strained his neck, glancing away from the forestry swimming before him and looking instead into the cockpit. "I told you already, no smoking! You could start a fire!" He ignored the hushed giggles (and Chris' surprisingly talented voice as he crooned a few lines from Billy Joel's political hit). "It's not funny. We could all die!" At this, Wesker seemed to rouse from his slumber at the far end (or maybe he had been awake all this time. Hard to tell with the shades), and grunted into his fist. "Put it out, Frost." Joseph frowned, but said nothing as he extinguished the butt beneath the steel toecap of his work-boots, much to Brad's dismay.

"Vickers!"

Brad resisted the urge to squawk in surprise. "Ye-yes, Captain?" he stammered. Wesker jabbed his finger forward, his mouth a thin, tired line. "Watch where you're going, or it'll be you that gets us all killed." Brad immediately turned back to the front. The heavy fog was starting to disperse, but it continued to grow darker the further into the mountains he took them. The fluttering in his stomach told him that something wasn't quite right with any of this, and despite the initial excitement about the mission, the mood in the cockpit was sombre.

A silence fell upon them. The constant whirring of the helicopter's propellers droned on. Brad tried to think of something to say to lighten the mood. He immediately dismissed the idea of telling a joke; it would only spur Joseph on to come up with some new and infantile way of ridiculing him. As he tried to think of something to talk about, he failed to notice the plume of smoke snaking its way up from between the gnarled, winter trees.

"Look!" it was Jill. "Do you see that?"

Brad turned to look out of his window. He strained his eyes, unable to see through the drizzle-clouded glass. Behind him the team had gathered around Jill's small frame, and were peering out into the forest themselves. Wesker tipped his shades down the bridge of his nose, sharp eyes glimmering despite the lack of light. He looked grim. They all did.

"What is it?" asked Brad, unable to see what they saw from his vantage at the front. He tried to strain his neck more to the left, but it only resulted in a sharp pain down his spine, so he quickly turned forward, grimacing as his bones tingled with the aftershocks. "What's down there? Should I find a place to land?" In his panic, he realised that he was starting to tremble, and his words were spilling forth without any thought. He did not need to look back to see that Joseph would be smirking as 'Chickenheart' made his first appearance of the night.

"Guys? What's going on?" insisted Brad, his voice hitting an octave higher when no immediate answer was forthcoming. He opened his mouth to ask-no, demand-a response, but before he could form the words, Jill spoke again. "It's smoke," she said, "it's coming up from the forest. It.. it might be Bravo's 'copter."

The silence descended upon them again. Brad tried not to think of what could have happened to the team, but it was hard to be positive when he recalled how suddenly their last transmission had ended. He gulped, doing his best to keep his hands steady upon the controls; the last thing they needed was for their chopper to go down and join Bravo's.

Through the drizzle, Brad spotted a clearing up ahead. It wasn't exactly a great spot to land, but considering that they were traversing a heavily forested mountain region, it was probably as good as it was going to get. He had yet to let the team down with his piloting ability, and he was damned if he was going to start now. Tilting the vehicle towards the location, Brad turned back to his team-mates, he locked eyes with Wesker. "I think I can land here, Captain." he announced, "It's not too far from-"

He couldn't quite bring himself to say 'the crash site'.

"-it's not too far from the smoke. Do you want me to set us down?"

Wesker offered a curt nod in response before turning back to look out the window. Barry had gone off to the very back of the cockpit, his figure bathed in shadow. As his broad shoulders shook, Brad wondered if the man was crying, but he immediately dismissed the idea; men like Barry Burton did not break down. He turned back in his seat, and began to take the 'copter down.

And as they descended, the nervous fluttering of butterflies settled again in Brad's stomach. This time, he could not dismiss the notion that there was something very wrong here.

As soon as the helicopter touched down, Wesker was at the door, pulling it open violently. A blast of cold, bitter air flooded the cockpit, stealing Alpha Team's surprised gasps before filtering back out into the trees. A low whining sound settled on the wind, and Brad shivered. He tried to see past the initial perimeter of trees, but beyond them there was only darkness. It made him uneasy; if something was out there watching him, he'd never know. He shuddered again and wrapped his thin arms around himself.

"Vickers, I want you and Frost to search the surrounding area."

Brad managed to suppress the urge to protest. Joseph, on the other hand, did not. In fact, he was quite animated about it. "What the hell?" he barked, jumping to his feet. Wesker gazed towards him, mouth taught and angry. Still, Joseph went on, "Why am I stuck with chickenshit? Keep him here; if there's any signs of trouble we can fall back on him. I don't want him slowing me down, or freaking out every five seconds!"

At this, Brad did open his mouth. "Would you shut up!" he spat. "You're an arrogant little punk!" Ignoring Wesker's obvious 'stop this right now' look, Brad continued, his feathers well and truly ruffled. "How did a guy like you get promoted anyway! You've got no respect for your superiors, you-"

"Yeah, and you have too much! You think none of us notice the amount of ass-kissing you do, chicken boy? It's fuckin' obvious. So don't come preachin' to me about-"

"Shut up!" Barry stepped forward from the shadows, positively seething. He glared between the two men, unsure which of the two he was most pissed at. He settled his eyes on Brad, who-considering his age-should know better than to be baited so easily. "Both of you, just shut up. Our comrades could be out there, injured, or worse. This isn't the time your schoolyard squabbles."

"Barry's right." said Chris. "We need to work together on this one. Joseph, come on, man, just lay off o' him for a bit, alright?" Joseph threw Brad one last glare before settling back into his seat, resigned. Brad, on the other hand, continued to fume.

"... Barry, I'd like you to come with me," said Wesker, after a long, uncertain pause, "we'll check out the site, see if it's the Bravo chopper or not. Jill, Chris, you'll be our lookout. You see anything suspicious, you shoot first and ask questions later. Don't forget where we are and what's happened to people here recently. We want to get to the root of these attacks, not become victims ourselves."

Brad grimaced; it had completely slipped his mind that those murders had happened up here. He found himself looking uncertainly towards the enshrouding darkness, now more paranoid than ever that something was out there. He pictured men with blood on their teeth and severed limbs in their hands. "... God..."

"What was that, Vickers?" asked Wesker sharply. Brad turned to him, startled. He hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud. Joseph sneered and muttered something to himself.

"Nothing, sir. I-I'm just worried about Bravo."

"As are we all..." agreed the Captain. He turned towards the clearing. A brief flicker of uncertainty washed over his face, but it was gone as soon as his feet touch the white mounds of frozen grass. Barry went next, followed by Jill and then Chris. Brad watched them as they disappeared-

(the shadows swallowed them up)

-into the forest.

An icy tension settled into the cockpit in their absence.

"You're not coming with me." said Joseph suddenly. "I don't give a rat's ass what Wesker said; I'm not having you latching onto me out there."

Brad whirled around in his seat, his delicate fingers clawed at the headrest as he threw Frost the filthiest look he could muster. Joseph took a long drag of a freshly lit cigarette, his eyes hard and determined. "I mean it." he went on. "You're a liability. Why do you think you're the only one out of us who isn't carrying a gun? Wesker knows he can't rely on you; you proved that much during target practice last week."

Brad flushed at the recollection; he hadn't been paying attention, hadn't been looking at where he was pointing the firearm, hadn't noticed when his finger pulled just a little too taught on the trigger. It was the only time Brad had seen Wesker lose his composure; the Captain had almost had a heart attack when the bullet struck the floor at his feet.

Pleased with himself, Joseph took one last, long drag of the cigarette before flicking it into Brad's direction. The pilot ducked out of the way and the butt landed somewhere near his feet. Joseph stood up and stretched, before heading outside, rifle poised and ready. Brad watched him from his seat, unsure of himself. A part of him agreed with his team-mate, but the other, more juvenile side of him, was determined to prove a point. Tossing his helmet and goggles into his seat, he hurried out into the bitter winds. He ignored the open door of the vehicle; no sane person would be out here in this kind of weather, at this time of the night. And even if they were, the likelihood of them being able to fly were infinitesimal.

"Wait!" called Brad. He couldn't see Joseph's figure, but the flashlight he was carrying surrounded the ground before him in a noticeable light. It paused before hurrying on. When Brad realised that his comrade was trying to lose him, he grew all the more determined and rushed to catch him up before the trees swallowed his circle of light into oblivion.

"Joseph!" called Brad again. "Stop being a dick! Wesker said to-" he paused when he realised that the beam from the flashlight was no longer moving ahead of him. Slowing down to a stroll, he approached the instrument. Joseph was not standing there with it. Brad was instantly both alarmed and terrified. He spun around, feeling suddenly vulnerable, like a child lost in the woods. His hands itched towards the radio at his belt; it was only the infantile sense of hurt ego that stopped him from snatching it up and contacting the Captain. He knew, in the pit of his stomach that Joseph was just messing around; he also knew that this time he needed to try to keep his composure for longer than sixty seconds.

"I know you're out there, Frost!" shouted Brad into the darkness. "You-you have the gall to call me a liability. We're here to help Bravo, and what are you doing? You're fu-fu-messing around!" When there was still no response, Brad huffed angrily and tore the flashlight up from the damp ground. "You're a dick, Frost!" he hissed. "You're a total, utter, complete DI-" Brad cried out when something grabbed him from behind. In his panic, he twisted his arm around, hitting out at whatever had a hold of him. His elbow connected with something, he hit at it again as the hands clutched fistfuls of his yellow vest. A pained grunt followed the third blow, and finally the fingers unwrapped themselves from his clothing.

Brad fell forwards, scrambling away. He gasped for air, eyes wide and panicked. When he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw Joseph standing there, holding his nose in his hands. Blood was pouring down his face from under his fingers. The beam from the flashlight cast ghoulish shadows across him, and Brad curled in on himself against a tree, still not quite sure what was happening.

"You fucking cock monkey!" was the first thing Joseph said when he took his hands away from his beaten and bloodied nose. "I think you broke my fuckin' nose!"

When his brain finally settled back into rational thought process, and Brad realised that his mystery assailant was Joseph, he felt a strong sense of unjust indignation. Stumbling back up to his feet, Brad threw his hands up in a flurry of frustration. "You're the one sneaking up on me!" he screeched, "You think it's funny, trying to scare me when we're on this kind of mission? What did you expect! I was defending myself!"

"I expected you to scream, not break my fucking nose, Chickenshit! I expected a bit of a laugh!"

"Fuck you!" spat Brad.

One only had to meet Bradley Vickers the once to know that, naturally, he was the least violent person you could ever expect to find. His usually pacifistic nature went out the window, however, whenever Joseph Frost was involved. The kid rubbed him up the wrong way. When he was around, Brad found himself wanting to break something (preferably the young man's face).

"You little runt. I'm gonna fuckin' kill you." said Joseph. He reached down to pick up his flashlight, attaching it back to its holster on his shoulder. He kept his eyes trained on Brad as he advanced towards him. "I'll make it look like another o' those murders. No-one will ever know. I'll cut you up, take big chunks of runty flesh out of you... Feed you to the wolves, maul you... devour you."

To his credit, Brad managed to stand his ground for a whole seventeen seconds, but then Joseph's shadow fell upon his small frame and he found himself bolting back towards the helicopter. He didn't stop, even when he heard Frost's bark of hysterical laughter, nor did he stop when he heard the distant shooting of a firearm.

It was the scream that brought him to a halt.

He looked back, barely able to make Joseph out in the darkness. But it hadn't been him who had cried out; the voice was female.

Somewhere in the mountains, Jill was shrieking for help.